


The Tattooing of Riza Hawkeye

by FlyinBanachab



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: Child Abuse, Gen, I mean it's not violent but it's definitely abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Non-Consensual Tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22223011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlyinBanachab/pseuds/FlyinBanachab
Summary: Teenage Riza gets her tattoo.I started thinking about how this might have gone down and I concluded: YIKES. So, this one is pretty dark, sorry.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 16





	The Tattooing of Riza Hawkeye

CENTRAL CITY  
1904

Riza Hawkeye did not hunch her shoulders or wrap her jacket tight around her as she followed her father down the narrow street. She kept her head high and strode briskly past the piles of garbage, past the questionable street vendors, past the dirty men shouting curses at nothing in particular. She mentally recited, over and over, "I am not scared. I belong here. I am not scared. I belong here."

Of course neither of those things were even remotely true. She wasn't normally allowed to come to this part of the city. Bernside. The _police_ didn't come to Bernside. This is where Bad People were. Where they came to do Bad Things. Which said it all about her father, really; that he would bring her to a place like this for a purpose like this... a cold wind gusted around the ramshackle buildings, cutting right through her jacket. She tried not to shiver. I am not scared. I belong here. Everything will be fine.

They eventually came to a stop in front of an unmarked door. Her father knocked four times and said, "Hawkeye for Lady Lace. Imminent cumulus."

Ten full seconds passed. Ten seconds doesn't sound like a long time, but it's more than long enough to get your hopes up. Maybe she wasn't in. Maybe she had moved, and they would never find her, and--

The door swung open and her father pushed her inside. 

Riza was surprised to find herself in a lovely parlor room, all plush carpets and brocade armchairs, kept bright by an army of lamps. A low table held a gleaming silver tea service. 

The person who had opened the door stepped into their field of view. Now this was more like it: he was an enormous bald man, skull covered in heavy black tattoos instead of hair. He wore a sleeveless shirt, but it took a second to realize that, because his arms were also covered in tattoos. Riza tried to pick out individual images in all the noise, but the first ones she saw were rather disturbing so she chose instead to look at his face. 'Haggard' is the word that came to mind.

The man spoke, and his voice was like a wagon rolling down a gravel road. "You have the design?"

Her father nodded and pulled a roll of heavy paper from the inside of his coat. 

The man nodded, then pointed to the couch. "You wait outside. You, in here," he said to Riza, and turned to open a door to an inside room.

Her father was, of course, indignant. "Now see here! You expect me to just sit out here and trust the accuracy of the transcription? This is an extremely compli--"

The man was instantly in front of him, bearing down on him, inches from his face. How could something so big move so fast?

"YOU. WAIT. OUTSIDE." He brought his massive hands down on her father's shoulders and forced him onto the couch. "We will confirm the stencil before beginning work. If you do not trust Lady Lace to do the work, you are free to go." He crossed his arms and glared down at her father. The skulls and daggers and naked women of his arms glared down too. Her father pressed his lips together and gave a small, tight nod.

"Very well, so long as I can confirm the stencil. Of course I trust Lady Lace, she's the only one I trust to do this correctly--" 

The giant gestured toward the back room, and Riza, of course, went. The door shut behind her, leaving the giant out there to babysit her father. Too bad; she was beginning to warm up to him.

This new room was entirely different. At first glance it looked like a doctor's office, with bright lights and a tile floor and a narrow bed in the middle. But the tools on the counters bore little resemblance to stethoscopes and tongue depressors. 

And here was Lady Lace, the woman of shadowy repute they had come all this way to see. Another surprise: she was young and pretty. Her brown hair was pulled back into a tight bun, which, Riza supposed, was sensible. You wouldn't want your hair swinging around and blinding you at a key moment. 

"You must be Riza," she said, and her voice was low and raspy, but kind. "Sit on the bed, please." Riza did so, trying not to shake as the blood pounded in her ears. I am not scared. I am not scared.

"Riza," the woman started, hesitated, looked at the scroll unfurled on her counter, looked back at Riza. "Riza. Tell me in your own words why you're here."

"My father--" her voice caught. She took a deep breath in, out, tried again, tried to make it come out even. "My father is entrusting me with his alchemic research. But it's-- it's complicated, the only person who can transcribe it faithfully is you." Tattoos were not a common thing in Amestris. Really, only two kinds of people had tattoos, and they were both pretty shady: criminals and alchemists. When the desired tattoo was a simple transmutation circle, an alchemist could generally manage it himself, her father had explained; but when it came to the really intricate, complicated pieces, well, you had to call in a professional. You called Lady Lace, the alchemist's tattooist. She had a reputation for accurately inking the most complicated pieces... and not asking questions about why. You could trust Lady Lace.

"How old are you, dear?" She asked quietly.

"Fifteen," Riza answered, just as quietly.

"Are you studying alchemy yourself?"

"No ma'am, my-- no ma'am." My father refused to teach a girl.

"Are you sure you want to do this? Really sure? Once it's on there, it's on there for good." Her green eyes locked onto hers, boring into her soul. "Please tell me the truth. Is your father forcing you to do this?"

Riza thought of that tank of a man out there with her father. What would happen if she said yes, if she said she was here against her will? "No ma'am. I'm here because I want to be." She was surprised at how calm her voice sounded.

"We can get you out, Riza. Hide you. You can be safe." Her eyes were pleading now. She knew. Of course she knew. She is the type of woman who knows things. "But I can't help you unless you ask me to." She fell silent, waiting. A full ten seconds. Doesn't sound like a long time, but when you are deciding whether to risk your life on the faintest hope for a brighter future...

"I belong here," she said out loud at last. "I'm not scared. Please, Lady Lace. Let's begin."

Deflated, the tattooist nodded and turned back to the parchment from her father, brushing over the entire surface with a clear liquid. "Okay. Take your shirt off and lay facedown on the bed. First I'm going to apply the stencil. Then your father is going to have to come in and look at it and give his approval. Then we'll start tattooing. It will probably take three or four hours. Do you want to continue?"

Please. Please stop asking. "Yes ma'am."

"Alright, dear." A warm, calloused hand touched her shoulder. "I'm going to put the stencil on now, it's probably going to be a bit cold." 

The next four hours went by in a jittery blur. The electric needles were loud, louder than she'd expected, especially when they were up by her shoulders. She tried to focus on her breathing. Lady Lace gave her a ball to squeeze, which was fortunate, because otherwise her nails would have carved bloody moons in her palms. At first it felt kind of like being scratched, a sharp dragging pain that caught Riza by surprise every time the tattooist started a new line. Soon the compensating endorphins kicked in, and while the pain was only growing as the finished lines turned red and angry, she felt exhilarated, floaty. An hour after that she began to get shaky from hunger. Breathe in, breathe out. Squeeze the ball. I am not scared. I belong here. Occasionally she thought she heard the tattooist inhale sharply, or mutter something incredulous, and she wondered how much alchemy the woman actually understood. She was the kind of woman who knew things, after all.

And then it was over, and she was gingerly pulling her shirt on over her bandaged back--looks like bras were out of the question until this healed-- and wobbling out to the parlor, where her father just nodded at her and said, "Good girl." He locked eyes with Lady Lace, who glowered at him, but they exchanged no words. He stood stiffly, put his coat on, and walked out the front door. Riza followed dizzily. She did not relish the long walk... to the long bus ride... to the long walk... home.

She barely slept that night, still coming down from the experience, her back hot and angry. So of course she heard the door quietly open and close at three a.m., and again an hour later. The next day, all she could do was lay on her churning stomach and listen to the radio, waiting for the news. And sure enough, they eventually reported the fire that had broken out in the Bernside district early that morning. It completely consumed exactly one building and two human lives. She gripped the pillow tightly, tears trickling down her face. Her father didn't trust anyone. Her father always said, if two people know a secret, it's no longer a secret. Her father couldn't risk having a woman who knows things running loose. 

She stayed flat on her stomach in bed, slightly feverish, for the next four days. Her father occasionally bothered to bring her food.

On the fifth day, she packed a small bag and slipped out while her father was busy in his study. She took the next train to a new city and knocked on the first door with a "to let" sign in the window. 

I'm not scared. I belong here. 


End file.
